Cinders blinked the sleep away from her eyes, groggy and half still-under when she glanced around at the forest. The moon glared down at her from above, and the trees were spinning in a violent twisting whirlwind and hurricane. The ground was swimming, and she was trapped, sinking slowly into earth and mud under the light of the stars. The dream-world was still merged with the real one, and this despairing, desperate agony in her leg was tugging and pulling, claws of pain digging deeper and deeper into flesh and bone.

She tried to move, but the world spun faster and faster, and the pain, the pain. Searing and burning and undeniable, this unignorable ache. She could hear pawsteps, echoing like thunder and there was a branch, rushing towards her, cats, from her clan, come to save her from this horror.

Eyes staring at her, wild and round, voices in the dark chasing her. Lichen, that was it. Come to take her away, to save her. She couldn't remember where the pain was from, just this artificial stench in her nose, suffocating her.

"I'm no prophet, but that could kill her." Lichen, her face, it was full of horror and ghastly shock. Inspecting the thing, the wound in her leg, and the pain, pain. The pain was swimming towards her, and it was turning her world dark as she prowled in the realm of dreams and unconsciousness.

****

Netttle blinked his eyes open, looking at the sunlight streaming into the den. For a moment he lay there, basking in the glorious light. His mother was back, they'd found her. He glanced over at Twist's nest. Empty again. She was probably worrying about Cinders, fretting and anxious. Sighing, Nettle picked himself up and headed out of the den. The clan was murmuring, glancing at each other and speaking in hushed tones.

"Did you see Cinders?" Whispered Apple, green eyes glowing.

"I can't believe it-"

"Just awful-"

"That gash- looked like death itself -" Path muttered, the Ancient casting a dark glance around the clearing.

"In the middle of the woods-"

"Did you see? Did you see?"

"Nasty wound-"

"Sierra thinks that she might not-" then Hawk broke off, staring at Nettle. The words spun round his head, wrapping around his mind and squeezing.

His mother. She was back! Alive! But- wounded. She'd be alright, though, wouldn't she? She'd been in scrapes before.

Nettle headed towards the prophet's den, nervous yet excited. His mother, alive. Alive and in here, he pushed his head through the den,

Dismayed didn't fit how he felt when he saw his mother. The tip of a long scar was visible above her shin, swathed in herbs and smelling vile. She was painfully thin, ribs peeking through a thin film of skin. Her eyes were closed, and she was so dreadfully still. She was so .. different to what he anticipated. He gazed down at the wound again, red and raw and veiled in black, and shivered uneasily.

Why was she so thin? She looked as if she might die of starvation before anything else. Maybe it was because of a head injury, or her unconsciousness. Maybe she hadn't been able to hunt properly because of her leg. Maybe-

Twist interrupted him. Her eyes were unreadable, and he couldn't identify any emotion in those abysses except one- worry. Worry was written all over her face, and was painstakingly clear. She said nothing, merely say on her haunches and gazed at Cinders.

She'll be fine, he told himself. Soon she'll be better and things can go back to normal, and everything will be good and well.

But as Nettle looked at his mother's still form, he wondered if she'd ever wake up at all.

Written by Olivia who failed the word count